Evanesce
by LitRaptor42
Summary: Phoenix is preparing to defend Diego Armando, but this makes asking Mia for help more complicated than usual. Miego and some Narumitsu. Also FYI, it was written as a sequel to "Night of Uncomfortable Truths," although it can be read alone.
1. Prologue

This fic is actually almost done: it's seven or eight chapters long, but I don't want to put it all online before I've edited it. (Unlike, um, yeah. The rest of my stories.)

Next in line is finishing "Heterophobia" and "No Reason to be Confused," in case anyone cares. And I think I've exhausted Phoenix Wright… with the possible exception of fluffy Edgeworth/Phoenix stuff.

Enjoy the _complete lack of Naesala.

* * *

_

_Evanesce_

* * *

I generally don't dream; being one of those people who can fall asleep anywhere, I usually also sleep very lightly, waking as soon as the alarm sounds. But then, that was what developed when one worked in theatre while pursuing a law degree. You learned to live on very little sleep, grabbed whenever you could get it, with a sure expectation of interruptions.

When I awoke the morning of the trial, panting aloud, my heart pounding from a nightmare I could actually remember, the pure fact that I hadn't merely woken to an alarm was almost as frightening as the dream itself had been. Something nuzzled close behind me, and I almost screamed; a split second before doing so, however, I remembered who it was, and clutched his arms to my stomach, ignoring the pain in my wrist.

He usually awoke more slowly than I did, and as a result was even more unsociable in the morning that his usual. Now he sniffed, groaning slightly at being awake, and asked sleepily, "S'okay?" One long-fingered hand closed over mine.

Clearly he wasn't awake enough yet to realize I was still stiff with fear. I forced my body to relax, and squeezed his hand. "Yeah. Just a weird dream. Go back to sleep." A sudden memory struck me: the last day of Matt Engarde's trial, when I'd dreamed of the judge, and I quickly smothered a semi-hysterical laugh. That must be why I'd been dreaming: the trial today was already drawing my stomach into knots.

"Mmright," Edgeworth murmured, nose to the back of my neck, already half-asleep again. A sudden welling of affection came over me—as well as the customary longing that accompanied it—and I sighed, happy at least that he could be uncharacteristically relaxed.

I closed my eyes, knowing the alarm would be going off in less than an hour; already the sun was making use of the curtains to create grey, barely visible patterns on the wall. Trying to go back to sleep would probably be pointless, but there was nothing else I could do. I decided to probe my memory one last time, to make sure I had all my arguments in hand. For once, I didn't intend to fly this trial by the seat of my pants—and if I got anywhere against Franziska, I wanted it to be known that I'd done it through hard work and good research, not luck.

My dream had unnerved me, though. The odd time that I did have a dream, it was usually about stacks of paperwork that filled my desk to the ceiling, until I decided to take a vacation with Maya, usually by waking up. Or something else so specifically stressful, the judge and his gavel being most memorable.

This dream had been more unnerving because of its vagueness: the feeling that something was wrong, then the sudden knowledge that I was alone. But I hadn't seen anything, or known for sure who it was that was trying to kill me, though I had woken up still running away from it.

I sighed, feeling idiotic and wishing I could to wake up the man holding me, and to tell him everything: my stupid dream, the fear about this trial, the hope I had for its finale… But I'd fiercely promised myself that no matter what, I wouldn't ask Edgeworth for help with this trial. Not because I didn't think he'd be able to help: far from it, since probably he knew Franziska von Karma better than any person alive.

Still… after he'd escaped from prosecuting the case himself, Maya and I, with no small amount of effort, had convinced him to take a two-week leave, the first vacation he'd taken in over seven years. He was now on his third day of blissful indolence: to both his chagrin and my intense delight, he was enjoying the hell out of it.

A small feeling of warmth grew on my cheeks, and I sighed, feeling covertly satisfied that I, too, could potentially call off from my job after this trial was over…and abscond somewhere with Edgeworth. I hadn't yet bothered to think about whether or not Maya would come, whether she would even _want_ to: but the thought of having him to myself for a week or more was so delicious that I could almost forget about the day ahead of me.

After all, for the first time in any trial I'd ever been through, I actually felt well-prepared. Last night had been miraculous, the time spent at the detention centre a gift that broke apart the whole case file and reassembled it. Beyond that, my client was neither confused nor panicked, and I could finally count on his cooperation. I shuddered to think of how the case might be going if Maya hadn't intervened.


	2. Mounting Frustration

It was already almost eight o'clock when my phone rang, abruptly shattering the cocoon-like interior of the visiting room. I sighed in annoyance. "Give me a second: it's got to be important at this hour." Armando mutely inclined his head, and I slipped a hand into my pocket, getting up.

"Wright speaking."

"Nick, it's me. Can I come in with you?" Maya's voice was so high and breathless that I almost didn't recognize it for a moment. Not only that… I paused. She sounded _nervous._

"Um… sure? I think so," I answered, bewildered. "Are you okay?"

"Fine, I'm just fine," was the unhesitating reply. Still, something felt off. I'd left her with Pearls, making dinner while watching reruns on television: it had seemed safe enough, but I wondered for a moment if they were in trouble.

"Okay. I'll have to tell Officer Meekins to let you in, but… are you sure you're all right, Maya?" I asked again.

I had expected her to sound annoyed—normally at this point she would at least be exasperated, calling me an old lady—but she sounded distracted, more than anything else. "Yes! I'm okay, Nick. Pearls is still working on the noodles, but I thought of something I need to ask you."

"Well, ask away," I said, trying to sound patient. "You sound nervous. Is something wrong?"

"No, no!" This time her voice was hurried, as if she wanted this conversation to be over, so she could get to the station. My eyes strayed across the room; Armando had tilted his chair back on two legs, and I had the feeling that if I could see his eyebrows, one would be cocked, eyes only half-interestedly fixed on me as he sipped black coffee. Another image popped into my head, of him casually blowing bubble gum—and it was so absurd that as I blinked back laughter, I heard Maya say, "…just need to come in for a minute. I'll see you soon, Nick, I'm already leaving."

"Okay," I said automatically, then realized it. "Wait, Maya—!" But she'd already hung up on the other end. I swore and thrust the phone back into my pocket. I felt an urge to punch something, but settled for saying, "I'll be back in a minute," trying unsuccessfully to hide my self-disgust.

"I'll just wait here," was the nonchalant response, paired alongside a coffee mug salute. I felt my shoulders slump as I moved towards the door; the temptation was very strong to call Maya back and demand what she needed… but Armando and I were already terribly far behind in preparations for the trial tomorrow, and moreover I simply didn't feel like yelling. I wasn't really mad so much as bewildered. The sensation, of course, wasn't entirely foreign, but it still irked me, mostly since it was because of Maya.

Walking out the door, I immediately winced as Mike Meekins absolutely leapt to his feet with a snappy salute. "Sir, Mr. Phoenix Wright, sir! What do you need, sir!" He'd finally put away his bullhorn since being transferred from evidence, but still had a tendency to scream everything at the top of his lungs.

"Uh, I just needed to let you know that my assistant will be coming in soon, Officer—Maya Fey. Do you remember her?"

His jaw dropped, eyes going blank as he assumed what was apparently supposed to be a thoughtful position. Belatedly I remembered that Maya had gone back to Kurain just before I'd defended Meekins, and decided that a description might be helpful. "She's got long black hair, with a topknot…"

Before I could add anything else, however, Meekins snapped another ferocious salute. "Yes, sir! I'll inform you at once when she arrives, sir!"

I sighed. Well, at least with Meekins I wouldn't have to go through the rigmarole of violating late visiting hours for non-attorneys. "Thanks, Officer," I said, and hastily ducked back into the room under a barrage of formal courtesies. Dear God, he was worse than Gumshoe was with Edgeworth.

Head now throbbing along with my wrist, I collapsed back into the chair opposite Armando. "Maya's coming in a few minutes—said she had something to tell me."

He'd been grinning at Meekins, but the expression faded somewhat at my words. "Tell _you_ something, or tell me something, do you think?"

I threw my good hand in the air; I'd been wondering the exact same thing, and said so, adding, "Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe better, given that my ears are still ringing." Rubbing my temples with one hand, I asked, "So getting back to where we were… do you think we're set for a cross on Gumshoe? I mean, obviously he's going to have to take Ms. von Karma's side for evidence, but he'll probably be our key player for… well, for the damsel-in-distress aspect."

"Ha! …That he will be," Armando mused. Now dangerously tilting the chair back onto a single leg and rotating it in half-circles, he was making me absolutely dizzy. "I suppose we'll be all right. You usually fly by the seat of your pants, anyway, don't you? Just press him when you get to anything that mentions Maya, and he'll crack like a whip."

"Oh, God. Don't remind me," I muttered, making him laugh again. "I suppose Franziska's going to have press-ganged Iris into testifying, too."

"She might have even made Iris a few offers, too."

I stared at him. "What do you mean by that?"

He lifted one shoulder, let it drop, half-smile impenetrable as usual. "At this point in the trial she's considered an accomplice. If she deliberately says what the prosecution wants during her testimony they may cut her some slack, either in jail time or fines. Whatever she ends up with after her hearing."

I had no answer for that, merely goggled at him. Franziska wouldn't stoop that low… would she? "Isn't that bribery!?"

"Nope, that's perfectly legal court dealings. Been happening for years. Your pal Edgeworth has done it a dozen times before, I'm sure."

I felt my face reddening in fury, and was for a moment spitefully glad that he couldn't see my flush. Edgeworth? Cut deals with criminals so they would testify for him? No! That was shades of Manfred von Karma, doing whatever it took to win! "Whatever. Even if Franziska offered a… a reduced jail time, or whatever, I don't think Iris would do it."

"Maybe not," was the answer, almost sounding like he would be disappointed in her intelligence if she didn't accept an offer. Thank God, he'd set the chair back on all four legs once more, casually throwing one leg over another; but my slight dizziness was being overtaken by a rising fury. Of all my cases, this was going to be the one that broke all of my past histories, and we both knew it: why was he being so damned unhelpful?

I felt a sudden urge to throw everything back into my briefcase and stomp out without saying another word. Every single moment of our interview tonight, Armando had made it totally clear that he still didn't give a damn how his own trial turned out. It was as if he had nothing to lose: which, in my opinion, was a complete lie. I'd already thought over it myself: certainly I couldn't expect him to value my opinion, but what about Pearls? And what about Maya?

Abruptly the door clanged open, and as I fought off the suspicion that I actually was going to have a coronary, Mike Meekins shouted, "Ms. Fey for you, sir! I had her sign into the book, sir!"

Still clutching my chest, heart hammering away, I got up as Meekins beat a speedy retreat, and turned to Maya. "Hi, Maya. What was it you needed to ask me?" Then I looked up at her face, and froze.

It was Mia. Not Maya channeling her sister. _Mia_.

Half a heartbeat later, she cocked an eyebrow at me. "Phoenix, Maya left a note that said _you_ needed to ask _me_ something, and that I should come here as quickly as possible. Is something the matter?"

Suddenly I realized that it _was_ Mia in her sister's body… still, I gaped at her; a thought began to grow at the back of my mind, a vague suspicion that I could absolutely be ready to _murder_ Maya when she stopped channeling her sister. "Uhm," was all I managed. Mia, contrary to the usual, had donned one of her old outfits that Maya had kept after the funeral, a classy black number that she'd worn assisting me in court; yet her hair was black, with Maya's topknot, and her Magatama was bright like her sister's. Still, the effect was completely unnerving. It was as if she were back from the dead.

Mia continued to eye me, and sighed. "Evidently this is my sister's doing." She glanced around me; her mouth tightened somewhat, and her eyes might have grown darker, but otherwise she maintained her composure perfectly. "And I've no doubt why." From her expression, I half expected her to greet Armando, but she merely added, "Can I be of any use to you, Phoenix?"

My heart was clearly trying to beat its way straight out of my chest and onto the floor; either that, or it was furiously attempting a coronary. Either way, I could barely breathe. Two thoughts flashed through my mind: the first was _She thinks I want her here to give a perspective on Armando's personality, or something_. Mia's expression didn't seem to incline against that idea, and as I swallowed, the second thought quite took over. _My God, what must Armando be thinking_?

As I turned to look at him, any reactions I might have expected out of him fled into the distant recesses of my imagination. I hadn't heard the chair overturn as he stood, but it certainly had; one hand gripped the edge of the table, his lips so white and his body so still that it was clear he was seeing a ghost.

Well, that was fair, I reflected. Something had subtly changed since I'd first faced him across the court, when he was still using the name of Godot, though until this moment I hadn't been able to put a finger on it. Beyond that, I myself was thrown off balance, simply because Mia was wearing clothes that _fit her_. The woman standing in front of me could have been Mia, five years ago, with slightly different hair. Knowing what I now did about these two and their past history, I was staggered that neither of them were saying more.

Finally it occurred to me that if I didn't say something, things might progress beyond the point of saving. In another colorful flash of inspiration, I also realized just what it was that I had to do. "Yes," I said firmly. "Yes, you can help me, Mia. But could you first come outside with me for just a second?"


	3. Entendres

Without preamble, as soon as the door closed behind us, I demanded, "Did you know he was alive?" As Mia's normally mild brown gaze turned sharp, I added, "Not right now. When I was your client. The case file, the one from Doug Swallow's death, said that Dahlia was accused of murder in a poisoning case, not _attempted_ murder in a poisoning case."

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Mike Meekins, hesitating between another salute and hiding under the desk. I ignored him, waiting for Mia's answer, and eventually he sidled out the door, evidently feeling that the intense emotions clearly swirling between Mia and myself were something he shouldn't witness. Unusually perceptive, but something in the back of my mind said that perhaps it had been sheer instinct.

She regarded me for a long moment; finally she looked away, staring so hard at Meekins' desk that I thought it might catch on fire. "Yes," she said, almost inaudibly. "Yes, I knew, Phoenix."

I struggled with words for a moment, wanting to furiously demand why she hadn't told me. But I restrained myself—why should she have told me? Why should she have told _anyone_? "And you kept it secret to protect him?"

When her gaze came back to me I almost flinched; Mia had never looked at me in anger before, merely in annoyance. I would much rather she get it over with and slap me, but she just said, quietly and furiously, "I kept it secret because I had no choice. If Dahlia had known, she would almost certainly have gone to the clinic and finished him off. Or worse yet, she would've made Iris do it." I did flinch then, and she added, "You already know that your 'Dollie' had been Iris all along: if I hadn't kept up the appearance of having lost Diego forever, she may have been forced to commit murder."

"Yeah, sure. Helping kill Armando, rather than helping him kill your mother later," I responded, more sarcastically than I'd meant to, and Mia flinched backwards as if struck. Instantly I said, "I'm sorry. Mia, I'm so sorry—I didn't mean that. I know you didn't… I wasn't accusing you of anything. You were right to keep it a secret, I just…" I sighed. "I just wish you could've told me. So I could've…"

"Could've done what?" Mia asked as I hesitated, her voice now as sharp as mine had been a moment before. "There was nothing you _could_ have done, Phoenix. When I died, I did so thinking he would never wake up again. Nothing I did would matter."

Her voice had become so bitter that I couldn't bear it anymore, and reached forward to take her hand. "But that's exactly what I could have done for you, Mia. I could have… you know. Been there, after you were gone."

There was a long moment; she sighed, shoulders slumping. "Phoenix…" I drew her to me, and she said quietly, tears dripping onto my shoulder, "I'm so confused." I knew that nothing I said would help, and stayed quiet, my good arm wrapped around her. As she drew back she added, pained, "I just… I'm so _angry_. I haven't felt this angry since Terry Fawles killed himself, and…" Mia's chin trembled, and she bit her lip to stop it, taking a breath to try and speak again but hesitating.

I knew what she felt, and part of me was still trying not to be angry with Maya. Perhaps she hadn't understood how her sister felt about Armando, or maybe she hadn't even known about their past relationship. But I could see it in Mia's eyes: she was _furious_ with him. Even more so than I was. I wasn't yet sure if it was because he hadn't trusted me to protect Maya, or if it was simply because of his cavalier attitude. But another voice in the back of my mind was telling me that if I managed to comfort Mia, she would be an incredible ally in making Diego Armando care about his own life again.

"Mia," I finally said, swallowing, trying to get the words right. "I didn't have any right to question you. And I know you're really upset. For a number of reasons. But I think it would give you some peace… and it would certainly help him… and me, too… if you just went in and made him feel like shit. For a few minutes, anyway."

Her eyes went round, and then she laughed, a short, shocked giggle. I added, "Seriously, you're the _only person_ who can help him stop acting like an ass."

But she was already nodding, the smile fixed half in place, half trembling in anticipation. "I know. Phoenix, I'm sorry I didn't tell you. But I couldn't trust anyone, you must understand that. You… you had only been part of my firm for four months. Only for a _month_, when I found out he was still alive. You'd been an unreliable client… you didn't even know my sister yet… I knew you were going to be a great lawyer, but…" She shrugged helplessly, and I knew she meant no insult by anything she'd said. "I didn't know _who_ I could trust."

"All reasons why Armando felt he couldn't trust me, either," I said quietly.

Her smile became sad, and she nodded. "Undoubtedly." Then she straightened, sighed, and looked at the one-way window. "Phoenix… can I tell you something? It'll only take a minute, but…"

"Of course," I answered, my mouth dry. "What is it?"

She was silent for a moment, eyes still fixed. The strange urge to snap my fingers or wave my hand before her face came over me. But I never would have done that to Mia, even as a joke; I was just desperate to get this all over with, and mentally shook away my impatience.

Finally, she said, "It's about the last time I saw him. Not the day Dahlia poisoned him, when you met her." I felt a flush come over my cheeks, the same mixture of shame, indignation, and disgust that always came over me at the thought of my young self. "I've told you about that before. I need to tell you this… someone has to know."

I wondered for a moment if anyone else had ever heard this purported story before; as I realized that it must involve her knowing Diego was alive, it seemed unlikely.

* * *

I stayed silent as she told me the story; it was brief and to the point, and I knew she was keeping back as many details as possible. Yet I could tell from her expression that it meant a great deal to her, that each time she did reveal something personal in the narrative, the relief she felt in the telling was countered equally by the pain of recollection.

Finally done with her story, we both said nothing for a moment. "Mia." She regarded me almost fearfully, as if I were going to say something deprecatory towards her past behavior. "He doesn't know any of that, does he?"

There was no change in her expression, except perhaps her eyebrows drawing together just a tiny bit more. "No."

"Then you need to tell him." I took her hand again, for perhaps the last time, and said it again, earnestly. "Please. I would want to know, if it were… someone else." I realized what I was saying a moment before it passed my lips, and sighed internally. But it was true: if it had been me, asleep, hidden under police protection for years… and finally Edgeworth had heard of my existence, come to see me, and had died before I woke…

"Yes," I said, more firmly. "I would want to know. It's such a small thing, but it will make a difference."

"All right," she said, without hesitation this time. And with that I knew what she was going to say next. The moment became one of those particular seconds in time, where you notice every single detail around you. The settings weren't much—mostly industrial grey—but I will always remember the expression on Mia's face, the perfect way her hair (Maya's hair) fell over the shoulders of her suit, brown eyes soft. "Phoenix… once I've done this, once I leave Maya again… I think this is the last time I'll come."

My heart felt like a cloth, every drop of moisture wrung out from it by the cruel hands of grief. But I nodded. "I understand, Mia. I'm so sorry we've kept calling you back so often."

"You needed me," was all she said, with the tiniest of smiles.


	4. Clearing the Air

LA LA LA LAW SCHOOL IS MAKING ME CRAZY GUYS

PW fanfic is pretty much my only stress-reliever.

I think there's one more chapter to this one, then I'm done.

* * *

I sat down in the seat Meekins usually occupied, and as Mia entered the room I busied myself by trying to find the speaker controls. Every interrogation room had an interior microphone which allowed conversations to be transmitted into the viewing chamber: the one for this room was almost magically crisp and clear, and I would be damned if I could find the volume knob for it. Of all the times I _didn't_ want to eavesdrop!

"Hello, Sir Prosecutor."

An uncomfortable pause. "Mia…"

"I beg your pardon. I would ask you to remember that I am not Mia Fey. I am her spirit, being channeled by a medium. The last time we met, I was incorrectly addressed as Madame Attorney."

No answer. I scanned the desk once more: _there_ was a knob that looked suspiciously like a volume control. I twisted it, to no effect. Belatedly I realized it had a tiny picture of a microphone next to it, and hastily reversed its position. I wasn't planning on saying anything, but I certainly didn't want the two of them interrupted by the Steel Samurai, if Pearls decided to call.

Mia was still speaking. "Mr. Wright has asked me for a few pieces of advice concerning his client, Mr. Armando. While I'm not entirely sure what I'm supposed to be helping with at this moment, I certainly sympathize with the plight of an uncooperative defendant, especially seeing as how Mr. Wright was one of my very most unwilling clients." I finally looked up at this. She was leafing through the case file quite leisurely, and after a moment she paused and shook her head. "But I'm not sure I can help him much with this case. This Armando seems to have completely lost his mind."

"Would you stop saying my name like I'm not sitting right in front of you, Kitten?" Irritated, but still warm.

It was mildly put, but I felt as if my breath had stopped. She simply stared: had it been me in his seat, I might have melted on the spot, in sheer embarrassment. Finally, she spoke again. "As far as I'm concerned, I don't know who you are."

The emphasis was all too clear: or _what_ you are. And for that matter, don't call me Kitten. Twin glares were traded, one decidedly cool, the other a struggle for composure, no less clear for being masked.

Abruptly, he snapped, "Stop acting like any and all of my actions were totally unjustified. You have no idea what your death did to me."

"Oh, yes, I do. I most certainly do." Mia's voice didn't rise, yet I would rather have been anywhere else. Frantically I searched for the speaker controls once more, but it was hopeless. "Oh, I can perhaps understand or empathize with waking up alone and bitter, refusing to come to terms with your own inabilities. But then, you never had to watch me die, to discover my dead body, to know who'd done it, to later face down my killer." She paused, and when she continued, every word was tinged with bitterness, finally rising to end in anger. "And the whole time, to know that if you'd just _listened_ to me, you wouldn't have had to die in the first place."

Silence. I had closed my eyes, unable to watch. "And then…" continued Mia's voice, "as I lay dying, to have the knowledge you were still alive. Too little, too late… to know that because I'd told no one, it would be my fault you awoke alone."

"Yes, alone!" he shouted, standing so quickly that his chair overturned once again, with a bang. "To find out there was nothing I could do, no way to even avenge you—my God, Mia, I would have faced down your murderer with pleasure! I would've—" I was almost a little in awe as he stopped, and with a concerted effort braced his hands on the table. This was a side of Armando I'd never seen: somewhere between the smug cool cat and the mysterious, bitter Godot. I couldn't see Mia's face very well, but something told me she was surprised, too. "Can you even wonder why I'm so filled with hate? Leaving aside the fact that Wright didn't do much in the way of protecting you, he also took away any chance I might have had at avenging you."

"Oh, please," Mia snapped. "I thought you got over all this already. Leave Phoenix out of this. You're going to harp on him now for being a good attorney? For correctly defending my sister? Well, why not just step back and let her go on trial for my mother's death again."

I myself always completely lost my train of thought (and sometimes all filters on my speech) when I got angry past the point of return: apparently it wasn't quite the same for Armando, though a long pause did ensue. His jaw tightened as he stared down at her, furious and completely without comment. Finally, ever so carefully, "I know we've already been through this. That was not my point, Mia."

"No. Of course not. Like a typical man, you were trying to make the completely irrational logic link between someone to blame for my death, and the one person you're now forced to rely on." Mia cocked her head. "I wouldn't be so completely devoid of sympathy if you didn't keep shoving away those who care for you, Diego."

Everything seemed to pause for a moment: the air in the room seemed to stop flowing, and no one moved a muscle. As if through a lens, I saw his throat move as he swallowed.

It was Mia, again, who broke the silence. "Maya… Phoenix… myself… even Pearl. I know it's hard to accept, but… like others before you, you've got to realize that sometimes… the harder you push people away, the more strongly they come back." My heart thudded, and I wondered vaguely if she was actually talking about Edgeworth, or if I were drawing too much of an imaginary link myself. "That no matter how much you casually pretend you don't care about your own fate, Phoenix and Maya are going to fight to the death for you."

The quiet returned. For the first time since she'd entered the room and sat down, Mia rose, with her usual smooth grace; she rounded the table and perched on its edge next to him. They were both silent.

"So you," he said abruptly, still not looking at her, "…you knew?"

At first I wasn't sure what he meant, and apparently neither did Mia. But finally, she answered, very softly, "Yes."

There was a clock somewhere in the interrogation room: I could hear it ticking as she continued. "The very day I died. Lana Skye came to find me, lent me her badge, and…well, you know better than I how many people the prosecution keeps tabs on. It was only for a few minutes, but I was there at the clinic. You never woke up. I never told anyone. I couldn't have, even if I'd wanted to."

I only realized that I'd been leaning forward in the chair when it began to slip out from under me: hurriedly I stood up, and put the chair in its place. I had never even thought to check with the witness-protection clinic, since I would have had to ask a favor from Edgeworth—and if Mia had gone with Lana's badge, there would have been no record of her presence there. Why hadn't she told me?

She had, ever so subtly, moved a hand to lay it atop his. The anger had faded from the atmosphere, a pervasive feeling of sorrow now coloring her gaze. "Diego, you said my name in your sleep. I would have gone to the ends of the earth to have someone there for you when you woke up, but… at the time I had no one to trust with the responsibility, and I never thought for a moment that I would die without at least having the chance to tell Maya about you."

There was a pause. Carefully, and just slowly enough that Mia audibly drew a breath in surprise, he reached up with one hand, fingers and thumb pressing on either side of his mask. There was a click, and its light went off. Once again, the air in the room was breathlessly silent. "Am I hideous, Jane?" he said, removing the device and looking at her.

I could only stare: I had never seen his face uncovered except in the mug shot included my file for defense counsel, and even though I myself had been the one to bring up in court the possibility of Dahlia stabbing his face with a knife, the raw scar that bisected Armando's face was still striking.

To my absolute astonishment, Mia had burst out laughing at his words. I had no idea what he'd meant, but she leaned forward and kissed his forehead, for the first time fondly touching his face. "Yes, sir. You were always hideous, you know."

"Oh, Mia," he said. I turned away as she pulled him toward her, both of them simultaneously laughing and weeping, grief and loneliness and desire combined.


	5. Stare Decisis

There was a tapping on the two-way glass behind me, and I turned to see Mia, peering in as if she could see through the mirror. Who knew? Maybe she could."Phoenix? Phoenix, you can hear me, right? Please come in."

I scrabbled for the microphone button. "Okay, Mia. Let me find Meekins so we don't get locked in."

It only took a moment to find him (cowering outside the door), and by the time I stepped into the interrogation room, both of its occupants had themselves under control. Armando was standing aside, arms crossed, once more coolly masked; Mia came over to me.

"Good-bye, Phoenix," she said softly. I swallowed: the thought had fled my mind that this was probably the last time I would ever see her.

I forced myself to forget that for a moment: after all, it had been this way for a long time now, hadn't it? "Good-bye, Mia. Thank you… God, I can't thank you enough. For everything you've ever done." I cleared my throat, barely even embarrassed that tears were starting in my eyes, and smiled at her. "I'll miss you."

She smiled back: I knew she wouldn't miss me, because where she was going, she wouldn't have to. "Take care, Phoenix. Give my love to Maya."

And without another word, Mia was gone. Unfortunately, she hadn't sat down.

I tried to catch Maya as she slumped against me, but naturally she had fallen against my immobilized left arm. Half a second before I was certain she would hit the floor, another pair of hands caught her, cradling her.

I looked up at Armando; we'd never stood this close before, and I could actually see his eyes behind the lights in the mask, oddly pale and fixed on me. I slowly took my hand out from under Maya's arm, and when she looked up, it was into his face instead of mine: our eyes were still locked.

"Mr. Armando…?" she said, not weakly, but somewhat uncertainly. Disengaging herself, she stood upright, automatically moving closer to me. Then she looked at my face; and back to his. "So… are things okay now?"

We were silent, still so close together that our colognes were swapping addresses. Nothing had changed for me, and I remained silent, daring him to say otherwise.

Finally Armando looked away from me, and to her; the changing angle of his face once more obscuring his eyes. "Yes, Maya," he said, voice less deep and sure than usual. But abruptly he grinned: Maya visibly relaxed, pulling Mia's too-big clothes around her and snuggling into the crook of my elbow.

He added, "Yes. I think we'll be all right now."

* * *

Less than twenty-four hours later, I was seriously doubting the merit of that statement.

"Mr. Phoenix Wright," she said softly, her silky young voice carrying only the hint of a threat, "what are you trying to pull?"

I swallowed for a moment as her fingers tightened with an audible squeak of well-oiled leather that reached all the way across the courtroom.

Then my indignity got the better of me. "I believe I am merely pursuing justice down a less-trod avenue, Ms. von Karma." I took a deep breath and added, "Certainly you read the defense's pleading. I am establishing my client's innocence through application of precedent to existing statues."

"Whew," Maya said beside me, and whistled appreciatively. "That sounded really smart, Nick!"

Franziska glared at me. The hush over the courtroom was that of a gladiatorial arena. The spectators were expecting violence, and anything leading up to it was just suspense. "It's not just me trying to be smart, Maya," I said to her under my breath, grimacing. "It's how the law used to work, back before the judging process was cut down to three days. Cases were sometimes judged by how other cases turned out."

"Regardless," said Franziska, more loudly now, "I do not accept this." She walked up to the judge's bench and, as he cowered back a bit, plopped my memorandum down on the bar. I'd wanted to write such a long treatise on manslaughter that the paper would land with a _thunk_, but for the judge's sake had cut it down to three concise pages.

The judge himself opened his mouth momentarily, ostensibly to protest that he already had a copy of the brief, but Franziska cut him off. She snapped, "This is a flagrant waste of the court's time, and its points are... they lack... the whole thing is a foolish waste of a fool's foolish effort!"

There. I'd gotten to her.

As she crossed back to the prosecution's bench, I could see the fury in that delicate little face, the tendons of her arms standing tight against the cloth of her sleeves. I knew Franziska had studied American law extensively, and with a father and master who had practiced forty years in the courtroom, she surely knew just how weighty the decisions of previous trials had once been.

Armando had told me about the sudden change just after he had come to work for Mr. Grossberg: how abruptly, no lawyer worth his salt was supposed to care about anything but statutes enacted by the government, as distinguished from common law, the laws established by the courts themselves.

"Totally crippling," he had said last night, shaking his head. "Law schools taught us to read cases and argue them. But now every criminal case I'd ever memorized… didn't matter." Then he'd grinned. "You know, that's what makes great prosecutors, Wright. And I'm not talking about me. Anyone who's had to learn case law can argue their ass off. Prosecutors they train nowadays are obsessed with the _rules_… and more often, how they can bend them."

I had been up all night long, researching printed cases that hadn't shown their face in libraries for years, and had been erased from electronic record before I ever took the bar exam. Armando hadn't been able to sit next to me and find the cases, though he had amusedly suggested more than a few that could support an argument against conviction for murder in the first degree.

It had been Edgeworth who really helped me, having had experience with this kind of research in his training under von Karma: in fact, it was only due to his aid that I could be assured Franziska knew even more about this subject than I did. Armando was right: she and Edgeworth were fantastic prosecutors, because they knew what logical argument to use to convince the judge.

The difference was, she hadn't prepared anything to fight precedent, and her expression as she glared at me was priceless. If the judge decided to let me argue this avenue, she would lose.

All this passed through my head in the blink of an eye, as the judge quailed before making a decision. He knew I was right, too. My evidence was not only convincing, but at one point it would have been mandatory authority over his courtroom. The California Supreme Court—which no longer existed, but at one time had decided all the cases in my brief—would overshadow anything but a federal statute on murder and manslaughter. And, as I'd made sure to check, that didn't exist.

"I don't think I've ever seen the courtroom this quiet," whispered Maya nervously. I noticed she was holding hands with my defendant, and my stomach lurched a little. I had seen the court this quiet: but it had been a particular assassin's testimony, during the admission of not only a murder but a kidnapping.

I cleared my throat, addressing Franziska once more. "And besides that, Ms. von Karma, I have studied the Model Penal Code and the Code of Criminal Liability for the State of California… and am prepared to argue a plea of justified protection of a third party."

Maya was gaping at me again. Okay, now I _did_ feel a little like smirking. It wasn't often that I was this prepared for cases—in this instance, it was because I'd had expansive amounts of time to look at the rules before I'd ever come to court, rather than twenty-four hours. It was the first time in my career that I hadn't put forth a plea of "not guilty,"

With less dignity, Franziska's expression would have borne a distinct resemblance to Maya's angry blowfish glare. Her nostrils were dilated, her cheeks white with a tiny spot of pink. In a movement so quick I barely saw it, she flicked out the whip; I cried out and grabbed my face in pain. It never got old for her, did it?

"_Foolishly— foolish— fool's— fool!_" she thundered in that cute little soprano voice, using the whip in time to her words (and with increasingly terrifying accuracy) to actually shred the papers sitting in front of me.

"Ms. von Karm-aahhhhh!" The judge, in the midst of disgustedly remonstrating Franziska, caught the tip of her whip as well, and vanished beneath his bench. My eyes watering, I glanced up at the empty bench, wondering why he'd bothered. Stopping a raging von Karma was like putting traffic cones in front of a bullet train.

At least Franziska hadn't gotten to the point of whipping me unconscious again: she reeled in the whip, tugging it between her hands in an attempt to calm herself. Taking a deep breath, a few more muttered "fools" escaped before she managed to understandably declare, "You may not argue any such thing in my court, Mr. Phoenix Wright! We are debating the points of murder, of which your client is _guilty!_"

I glared across the courtroom at those blue-grey eyes: I didn't care if the judge supported a shred of my argument, but I wasn't about to let Franziska tell me what I was or wasn't allowed to argue as a lawyer. "Maybe so, and you can whip me silly for being _informed_, Ms. von Karma, but under the laws of this country, the law of protection of a third party is clear-cut and has been used to justify not just one or two cases of second-degree murder but _scores_ of them! My client may have killed someone but he does _not_ belong on Death Row for it!"

Franziska glared right back at me, teeth gritted and hands twisting the whip into knots. There was really no way for her to legitimately argue, and she knew it.

"Ahh..." The judge peeked from beneath his bench. "Mr. Wright m-may have a point. C-can we just present the cases, and then I'll decide?"

"Arrrrrrgh!" Franziska screamed, and I hastily put an arm up to defend myself.

The first _crack_ of the whip missed me entirely, striking Maya's sleeve. She shrieked: and before I knew it, my defendant leapt out of the dock and dove in front of us, catching the next strike _in his hand_.

There was a gasp from the spectators, then utter silence. Franziska gaped, panicked into wordlessness. "You can beat your opponent into a puddle for all I care, but don't _touch_ Maya Fey, Lady von Whippingberg," said Armando quietly: the whip was tangled, almost imbedded, around his hand, and the muscles under his shirt bunched as he yanked it from Franziska's grip.

The bailiff was paused halfway across the room, obviously unsure what to do. Armando tossed the whip to the judge, its tip bloody from his lacerated palm, and calmly made his way back to the dock. As he vaulted the rail and resumed his seat, silence reigned again.

The judge looked back and forth from me to Franziska, back to me and again to Armando, coolly ignoring everyone. Then, hesitantly, the judge clambered up from under the desk. "Er... are there any opening statements, or should we begin with witnesses?"

"That... was _too cool_," Maya whispered, with a huge, shaken grin.


End file.
